A Blue Wonder
by BigGeek
Summary: The hand around his throat was tight. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. Colours were bursting in his vision. Keith's cries were muffled. Lions were falling. His first home was crumbling. The ancient sword in his hand was dulled and chipped, and his bayard was destroyed by Kuron. All hope is seemingly lost. But, Lance could feel a twinge of electricity in his veins.
1. Chapter I: Starting's and Meetings

The fic you have all been waiting for. I'm sorry it took such a long time. But on the bright side it's here and I'm already planning the second chapter and the whole thing. I hope you all enjoy it.

This is a slight Wonder Woman crossover. It mostly Voltron, I swear. It's just the start.

And so you know before hand: Leandro Prince is Lance Mcclain. Just so you don't get lost and such.

* * *

"So, this is an American diner?" Leandro said as the word 'diner' rolled off his tongue, testing the foreign word.

As Amazon's, this "diner" of sorts are unheard of. There were always small bars, filled with food they hunted that day and homemade liquor, not that they could get drunk. Not that he was allowed in those bars on those "special" nights in the first place. He didn't want too, nor did he want to see the looks and comments that have been sent his direction. He lives through it during the day, he doesn't want to live through it at night. Wriggling his nose where the pair of glasses sat. His mother demanded that he wear them, for identities sake. He continued to look around.

"Yes, they have quite the exquisite meals…and they're quite filling" his mother answered from the other side of the ratty, red booth. The compliment was filled with fondness, no doubt she had visited with her League friends before . Her hair was in a tight bun and she adorned her black glasses. Glasses were expected, though, the hair was not, it was always down… It looked nice. Like a dark spiral.

His ocean blue orbs, eyed the 'diner'. It was what the people here called old and/or classic. It had -what he assumed- was the kitchen at the back, behind the wall then the counter in front with seat lining the brown, wooden counter. It wasn't busy as he expected, just a few individuals here and there.

His mother brought him here to talk about "personal matters". He would scoff at the title for it. It's not very personal if the entire league knew about it. The relationship with his mother has been…rocky these days. So to speak. His mother had a shorter fuse than she had three years ago, and he wanted an out. An out that she will not give. Nor any information towards his roots - not her roots, his fathers. Whoever that may be. But, it may be the perfect timing, he had something to tell her. Something she will probably not be happy with. At least they were in a situation, if that if she were to become explosively angry, she would have to contain herself…

…The best she can.

His hands fiddled with each other on the table. The "something" ringing in his mind with no end. Sub-consciously, he gulped. Audibly.

Mother looked at him strangely, before adjusting her glasses and picking up the menu. It was silent. Awkwardly silent. Five years ago, they would both be chatting up a storm, Mother telling him stories -ancient and from the field-slash-league, and he would be talking about the new thing he learnt and about his self-doubt-created by the population of Thermyscira, aka his aunties and grandmother.

He was open, his mother was not. That was probably what lead them to this situation. Now everything personal he used to tell her gets bottled up in his chest and escapes through his tears at night.

It was nothing new. He had been doing it for three years. When he started thinking and asking the real questions. Only to get blown off. It was then, that their relationship started to deteriorate.

"No" Leandro jumped at the unexpecting sound from his mother on the other side of the table, his own menu bouncing with him.

"I didn't ask anything?" Mother placed her menu down on the plastic table, a slight thump on the impact. Revealing those sharper than usual eyes.

"But you were thinking it" Leandro looked at the table when tears pricked his eyes, not wanting her to see.

She doesn't even know him anymore.

Nowadays, she seemed more run down. Fatigued, angry, frustrated. She doesn't even smile in his direction anymore. Or scold her sisters at the rude comments sent his way. He would always smile at the shocked face and the slump of their shoulders when they walked away from their princess they were just schooled by.

Mother must have assumed that he is fifteen, he should be able to protect himself. No, he can't, Mother. He can't. They are stronger and more experienced than he is, and by his Grandmother- or Queen. he was only allowed to call her by, his aunts have more authority over him than a boy, much less a princess's son. From his visits to the World of Man, he has concluded that his "aunts'" and "grandmother" as 'sexist'.

Mother started, "Honey," Leandro bristled at the word choice, "you are frustrated. I get it. You are young, and a teenager. And I can understand. The whole perspective change. From a boy to a wise man." Leandro felt sick, his nails leaving crescent shaped dents that slightly bled in his palms. The tightness in his chest stretching like an elastic band. "It's terrifying in some ways, to recognise the wrong in the world you never thought previously. But that doesn't excuse you to take it out in…unhealthy ways" His Mother sounded unsure to the word choice to his actions.

His mouth opened, prepared to answer the comment, "Hi! Welcome to Big Belly Burger. What can I getcha?" Leandro cringed at the shrill sound while his mother smiled and ordered to the curvy waitress in a skimpy skirt and high heels.

In some ways, he was grateful for the distraction. He would have said something he would have regretted. He watched the blonde bun on the waitress head bounce away and behind the wooden counter before he answered. His Mother waited, expectantly.

"Unhealthy ways?" Leandro chuckled, the slight satisfaction the frown slowly marring her face, "…So standing up for myself is an unhealthy outlet?" He drawled. Already, the tightness in his chest burned again and hysteria rose to his throat. He felt like laughing like the Joker. Maybe the Red Hood could kill him. Now _that_ was a way to go.

"So, fighting against my "aunts'" is looked badly upon. Even though they call me _nefas, detetatio, tedium_ , _ineptus_ and that's only naming the few Latin nicknames." Leandro felt like ripping out his shaggy locks and crying at the same time. He just felt numb. Like he is every night, in that lonely room he has called his own since his birth. The one that palace refuses to clean for him.

Mother tapped her fingers against the table a couple of times before resting her hand on it instead. "I heard you threatened them," Leandro recoiled as she pointed to his wrists that were laying on the table, "w-with…you know"

Leandro growled as he quickly stashed them in his lap. The metal that he wears on them felt colder. He has worn them since birth. Every time he grew out of them, it was just him and his mother in a stone room so she could replace them with bigger, more powerful ones. Ever since his birth, his abilities have been unstable, much more unstable than his mothers. All because of his father's side. The whole population of Thermyscira have been afraid of that ability, even though they are powerful, experiences soldiers and generals. They have seen the power his mother possesses. It had been speculated that he is stronger than her. None of them want the experience what he encompasses. No one other than himself. Because of that, they leave him in completely ability constricting gauntlets. And they criticise and ridicule him like children for it. There were moments where he thought he was one the most mature individual on the island.

Leandro bared his teeth, "Those are lies!" He ignored the peering eyes from his outburst from individuals at the counter and couples in separate booths. "You know that I will never do that". That was true. It hurt that his own mother thought he would. He could see it in her eyes. That untrustworthy look had his skin crawl. He felt his gauntlets spark on his wrists, and he faintly jumped and took a deep breath to calm the storm that was starting to rage.

It fizzled out

The two were left in silence. His Mother stared out the window onto the bustling street, smiling as the familiar red streak flew pass, secretly knowing that he would visit in the next few minutes, while Leandro stared at the frayed sewing material on his ripped jeans, trying not to cry. It felt like his energy was just being sapped out of his body in the past ten minutes from entering the diner. He wanted to leave. The sooner he could get over this, the better.

They were silent as they brought out the food. A greasy burger filling with bacon and beef with lettuce, and seasoned fries wafting up his nose, begging to be eaten. Like any sane, happy person would. He just played with it, his fork scraping the plate as his strength slightly loosened from the cage only to be slightly hurt when it was forced back it. They were silent as his Mother ate.

"Leandro, stop playing with your fo-"

"I got an offer from Bats" Mother froze, a burger halfway from her mouth. The oil sliding down the bacon and splatter onto the plate amongst the half-eaten fries. It was a wonder why his mother called this food exquisite. Mother sighed and placed the burger back onto the plate.

"What did you do now?" Leandro scrunched up his eyes, and tried to breathe evenly. His own mother doesn't even trust him to be responsible.

He scoffed, "I did nothing. Bruce asked me to do something and I accepted". That was true. During his rare visits to the Watchtower, the Bruce stalked up to him in full Batman gear. From the crease in his brow, he knew he had something that required his abilities or his person. They have been introduced before, in fact, it wasn't a rare occurrence for one of the Bat's to take him away to Gotham, without mother's permission of course. He and Clark, the one that Mother said used to wear his underwear outside of his clothing, were some of the closest men that he has ever come to, other than the younger Bat's, of course.

It was a small conversation at the start before he asked the question. Leandro instantly agreed. And the Batman thought he didn't see the loose smirk that adorned his face after his small happy dance, for an out from the prison he was being kept in.

"And Bruce didn't come to me first? And you accepted!?" she screeched, disappointment lacing her voice. Again, other customers turning back to the commotion in that corner booth next to the window, they sat in. "Do you realise how irresponsible that is. What are you doing? What has he set up? You don't know what is out there, Leandro! I am your mother. You have to listen to me"

Something inside of him snapped. It was quiet and hidden before, but when that magma started to burn through his veins. He had no control.

The table vibrated as he smacked his hands on it, the burning of his hands was welcoming. He stood on his legs, electricity running through his muscles. He felt alive. And angry. And disappointed. And afraid.

"Of course, I accepted. Like your shitty parenting was doing anything. I'm fifteen years old, only a few months short of sixteen. In two years, I will be eighteen. A legal adult. I have that right as a person! I don't have to tell you whatever the hell I will be doing" Leandro panted and sagged against the table. He felt slight shame in the fact that he just swore in the first time in his life. And those short sentences were exhausting.

His hearing could pick up the whispered comments from across the diner. It made him angrier. He threw the navy spectacles off his face and stormed out of the building. It felt like he may as well lay lava in every footprint and watch it melt and solidify. He turned around for one last look. Mother had the face of utter heartbreak amongst the broken glass lens of his fake glasses, a little bit of him thought she deserved it. He huffed, "Goodbye, Mother". His heartbeated furiously in his ears, and blinked away tears. This was a victory against his negligent mother. Why should he be crying? Like a _patheticus filius?_ The bell rang as angry as he felt when he pushed open the glass door and into the busy street. The honking of cars, chattering pedestrains and the stomping of feet drowning out the calls from his mother. He tore through the people, not caring if he pushed them a little to hard on the shoulders. He didn't even listen to the comments at his roughousing, not even when he miraculsly pushed Barry, who-as predicted- was going to visit them at Big Belly Burger.

He didn't hear his calls, he continued to walk. When they grew, softer and stopped altogether, he presumed that he left to comfort his Mother.

As me moved to the zeta tubes that was laid in Central City to head to Gotham City, one thing ran in his mind.

His last words as he whispered it to himself.

"Goodbye, Mother"

It was almost funny how their relationship went from "My Moon and Stars" to "Stop ignoring me, Mother".

* * *

G - A - L - A - X - Y G - A - R - R - I - S - I - O – N

A pretentious school for the young and gifted. Taught by literal federal agents, PHD scientists and experienced aircraft pilots, engineers and tech experts. Quite the school indeed. And tough to be accepted in. He could tell, by those darkened eye bags and crow's feet on their faces – both teacher and student.

Now, this is where he stands. Tugging the brown jacket Jason must have bought as he stared down the empty airplane hangar. Bustling crowds of bright smiles and excited faces in an empty airplane hangar. High ceilings, and sunlight filtering through the open doors. Where it has, numerous buses drive off and pull up with new students. The walls plastered with posters, the biggest with Takashi Shirogane. His target, sorta not target. For some reason, it felt like Shirogane's eyes were watching him from the far wall and his overpowering height, his "brave pose" fluttering in the non-existent wind.

He sighed and looked back to his first objective: **Enter Galaxy Garrison**. Strangers passed him dragging bags of luggage towards the hundreds of desks that lined the entire width of the hangar, attached to baggage screenings. Pass that barricade, he could see passed student pull their luggage into corridors directed by staff, most talking excitedly to (assuming) parents on the other side of phones. Soldiers walking through the crowds of people, being observed like spectacles, and distant students of previous years watching the "new meat" from the side-lines. He shifted the duffle bag to be more secured on his shoulder and began to walk towards the closest, empty desk. In the space full of loud to-be students, only the sounds of his footsteps registers in his mind.

Batman had a hunch, and when Batman had a hunch, he was always right. Even when he was wrong, he would still be right. The moment Leandro stepped into the Batcave from the zeta tube, and his name ring out and echo in the cave, his "target" was already on the multiple screens at the "Batcomputer". Dick's name for it, not his.

 **Mitchell Iverson**

An old looking general. Wrinkles decorated his face, along with the miniscule scars that adorned it. The image looked like the it was taken right off the Galaxy Garrison surveillance footage. He wouldn't be surprised if it was. Then he spotted the blurred students behind Iverson's zoomed up form. _It was_. But, to be honest, it looked like Iverson had a massive stick up his ass. One that tickled his oesophagus. Bruce's description stated that, "Has a connection to the Kerberos Mission and Crew", and Bruce's idea that he was doing something shady. With a huff, his eyes continued to the "sub" targets.

 **Samuel Holt**

A highly decorative scientist. And commander of the Kerberos mission. An old man, with laugh lines in the corners of his mouth and eyes. This one looked like he knew how to have fun. And enjoyed his job and teaching his students. Well, given the image was in one of the Garrison's lecture rooms. A big holographic board fill with formula's he had no clue how to decipher and the huge smile on his face to the class of incredibly focused students.

 **Matthew Holt**

The son of Samuel Holt, and top of the class. One of the reasons he was going employed to join the Kerberos crew. Following in his father's footsteps and career path. Not only in interest are they similar but the identical bright smiles that shone into his eyes. His eyes read the description that Bruce put together. _"Highly intelligent young man, with a history of "_ pranks _" in the facility, both property, fellow students and faculty, with the Garrison's top piloting student Takashi Shirogane"._ His eyes noticed the poof of black hair just out of the camera's view, the person Matthew Holt was laughing at, his next target,

 **Takashi Shirogane**

Top of his class in his entire history at Galaxy Garrison and holds the flight simulation record. A Japanese-American, immigrated from Japan at the age of fifteen and almost immediately got accepted into the Galaxy Garrison. As to be one of the youngest pilots to pilot a space craft into space, and the one of the first humans to reach to furthest in space yet.

All four faces blinded him in the dark cave as he stalked closer the computer. The screen illuminating the cave in a light blue hew. As he moved closer he spotted the duffle bag he was to take to the Garrison sitting a few feet from him on the bench with littered grappling hooks and a few strange bottles. Which included; casual clothing -which Dick, Jason and Tim he presumed bought-, Garrison uniform, toiletries, and some "stuff" he "burrowed" from Thermyscira, particularly the armoury. Not that Bat knows or his mother. He placed his trembling hand on the bag's material. The walk to the zeta tube gave him time to calm down before he could breakdown and start crying and sobbing like a psychotic person…he was an ugly crier.

The moment Bruce came down those stairs in the usual turtle neck and slacks, he started the briefing.

The Galaxy Garrison plans to launch the Kerberos mission in six months. Their Commander; Samuel Holt. Communications Expert; Matthew Holt. Pilot; Takashi Shirogane were to be sent into space and land on Pluto's moon; Kerberos. The purpose to collect data within the ice that was formed on Kerberos. Though, Bruce has a hunch that Mitchell Iverson was planning, or involved with something. Something League related, and could possibly lead to the deaths of millions. Which, to a sane person's mind would be stupid and insane. That's why Bruce is a billionaire with unresolved issues. So _many_ unresolved issues.

He wanted Leandro to go undercover and discover information. Information their camera's and audio could not reach. Like gossip and rumours. That he could do.

Then they moved onto his alias. Or the list Bruce pulled up onto one of the screens.

 **Lance "Charles" McClain**

 **Sex: M**

 **DOB: 28/07/20XX**

 **Garrison Code ID: 0966337**

 **Sarcastic, arrogant, …incredibly annoyingly social, naïve, flirt, uses… a skin care routine…**

"Do I really need to do that?"

"Yes"

…

"Are you sure?"

"Yes…Dick suggested it...all of them took part."

"…of course, they did"

…

"There should be skin products beside your bag"

Moments later, Leandro stared down the designated zeta tube. Bruce's hand a comforting presence on his shoulder. He wanted to say goodbye to his "cousins". Again, Dick's name. But, if he wanted to avoid his mother he had to leave, and now. He took in a shuddering breath, with slight hesitation he turned and borrowed himself into Bruce. His skinny arms curling around his waist. He felt him stiffen then slowly relax, and have his own beefy arms engulf his lean form. Bruce was practically his parent when his mother became "distant".

Now, what stood (or sat) before him was a woman. Tight pencil skirt and billowing blouse, a pen held around her ear. As she typed on the holographic screen, she had the expression of full boredom as she chewed and popped the white gum. The stereotypical business woman, and a woman who would give no fucks.

"Uh…Lea-uh-Lance McClain?" he stuttered. His hands fiddling with the rough, thin straps of his bag. The typing stopped as she spun her chair in his direction.

The petite woman stared at him, expecting something as she chewed her gum. His heart rate sped up. Did he already do something wrong? What did he fuck up? Did she catch on? Was it the slight change from his name to the alias? Did she know that he brought magical weapons that could not be picked up by earthen technology in his bag? The black-haired woman huffed, "Your ID number?"

Leandro sagged in relief, "Oh, yeah. Sorry, 0-9-6-6-3-3-7" Thank the gods. At least he has done something right.

Not a fuck up, 1.

Fuck up, 0.

* * *

B579. B580. B581. B582.

B583.

 _Ah ha!_

The door was grey and it was boring. To be perfectly honest, what else would someone expect on a military owned door for its students. He twirled the orange ID in his hands, the one with his profile picture Bat's made, room and ID number and a washed-out picture of the Galaxy Garrison logo behind the important information.

He brought his ID card to the pad beside the door. Swiping it through, and the green indication became almost instantly. The doors pulled apart swiftly, the soft grinding of metal and the change in the atmosphere hiss gave way as it gave him the view of the Garrison standard room.

The window at the back, giving the rather boring view of the desert, then noticed the rather obvious "blinds" of metal that he would assume close on him and his roommate at night. Two identical beds on either side of the room with the exciting grey bed sheets and pillow. Two desks and a very small wardrobe on both sides. They definitely know how to trap their students up like rats. But,

…it looked so much better than his one on Thermyscira. So, modern. So, different.

Leandro laughed as the door slid shut behind him, he didn't care to register it. In fact, he instantly flopped onto the bed on the right side of the room. His bag landing with a dull thump beside it. The cluttering of weapons and small pieces of armour on impact.

"It's so soft!" His screamed into the mattress. It looked like he was hugging the bed. That won't be surprising.

He laid there in what felt like hours. His face smooched into the bedding, or his eyes stared into the ceiling. This is what freedom felt like, he thought as he stared at the horrendously orange ID card. For the first time in forever, he felt light. Like nothing he couldn't stop. That he had no weight to drag behind him every morning. No immature aunties. No cruel grandmother. No negligent mother. He was free from all blood ties. Sure, he wasn't himself. But that was not going to stop him. He had been a person that had chains tied to his arms and legs, now they were rusted and feeble. Just one firm pull with an ounce of his Amazonian strength and he was free.

"H-hello?" Leandro shot up, resisting the urge to grab the currently non-existent sword that he would usually have on his bedside table.

His blue orbs met a pair of brown ones. A dark, large man stood at the door. Shifting on his feet and carrying two bags of luggage. The plain door behind him closed behind his form. Even from this distance, he could see the sweat bead down his forehead. He was nervous, both of them were. This was the very first person he would "live" with outside of the League and family. Leandro took a deep breath.

"H-Hey," They stared at each other. It was becoming awkward and uncomfortable very quickly. He gulped. "I-I'm Lance, uh, Lance McClain…from Cuba, well Florida, but Cuba – yeah, ah…" That did nothing! Stupid!

"…I'm-," the word that just pass the man's lips was alien, and he would not dare to pronounce it. Ever. The man must have seen his lost expression and quickly closed back up. No! That was the opposite that he wanted.

They continued to stare in silence. This was not Lance McClain does. He has to be funny, arrogant, social. Right now, you are being none of that! Like a failure.

He quickly observed the large man's figure. Dark green vest, black pants. Huge. Not in a fat way, obviously, but more of a warrior way. Big and strong, everything that the Greek ideal for men, that he isn't. Which was lean and thin.

The words slipped out without his notice, "A hunk"

The man stopped, an arm coming to rub the back of his neck, "S-sorry?" Silence rained down again. Panic came into his mind. Not this time, he had this. A smile quickly adorned his face, big enough to crease his eyes and stretch his lips.

"You're a real Hunk. You know what? I'm going start calling you Hunk"

Leandro hopped off the bed and skipped to towards the man, now dubbed as Hunk. He swung an arm around his shoulder and brought him into the middle of the room. This was his chance to impress. Hunk seemed to be a in state of shock and confusion, because he held no resistance or spoke. With the best of his ability, he spoke in the most silly, upbeat tone and voice possible.

"My name is Lance McCain, at your service. I'm one of Garrison's freshmen, I'm assuming is the same with you. Buddy, I'll offer you some mints but I'm all out because I don't have any to begin with. I'm from Cuba, but an immigrated to Florida when I was twelve. Now, that's enough about me, what about you, Hunk the man."

He twirled on his heel and faced Hunk, a hand out expecting the usual mankind handshake.

Slowly, Hunk's shocked expression crumbled. It crumbled into laughter.

It quickly became his first out of League friendships.

* * *

Five Months Later

Within a five-month timeframe, he has gotten no solid lead, and no information. Every small lead led to a dead end, and leading to a rather harsh scolding from Iverson. He was right, he did have a massive stick up his ass, like you could hear it in his voice. It was tickling his oesophagus. Every dead end made him and Bruce all the more frustrated. And from his small "chats" he has on his phone (with earphones in, and the screen turned off), he has come to know what happened to his mother in the outside world. Apparently, minutes before he left the cave, she barged in and demanded she know why he went. Luckily, Bruce denied and even luckier Alfred contacted Clark to intervene before there was a full-on fight out. That's everything he knows. Bruce refuses the ask any other questions related to anything but the mission, which he understands.

Currently there is nothing, nada, zero, zilch.

Absolutely nothing.

So, he continues. Going to class. Studying. Hanging out with Hunk. Talking and befriended hundreds of other students. Like a normal person would. This was what a normal person did. That was exciting on its own. Even with his increase studying, he has come to understand Hunk's terms for things he never knew previously. It was amazing.

And for five months, it was perfect.

Then it wasn't.

Why?

Because he met the most annoying person he has ever met in his sixteen years of life. Every time he saw his head, he would go back to when they first met.

It was just before class, and he was reviewing some of the work before the midterm exam. Sure, he was supposed to watch where he was walking, that was life's first rule. One he has come to not follow. Rushing and panicking student passed him and he stuck by the inner wall, and they became a distant memory. It was like a white noise match. There was nothing there to be distracted by. That was before he walked around that dreaded corner.

The punch like feeling in his abdomen, the air in his lungs escaping his body and the flying of his notes. His back met the ground with a thump, and the ringing of his head when it hit the floor. He groaned as he got up on his elbows. It was giving some mean PTSD with the fighting spars with his cruel aunties taking advantage to his "disability, aka gauntlets".

A second groaning met his ears, it was then he faced the asshole that bumped into him. Putting all of his weight on his left side, he used his free hand to rub his head, and to get a good view of said asshole. He opened his eyes and put them into a glare. Not quite Bat worthy, but close enough. His blue clashed with a strange purple.

"What the fuck, asshole"

The asshole's face was flushed as he glared him too, he would have scoffed. It was so weak.

"You were in the way" He forced out, already getting onto his knees. Leandro's lip curled in displeasure, at both the asshole and the mess of notes he had. He only has three minutes until the exam, and he's pretty sure he has a concussion.

"You were fucking running" Leandro argued back, already starting to pick up pages of notes he spent hours working on the past two weeks. The asshole growled and got up, his face still flushed and had gotten deeper.

As Leandro reached to the paper to his side a foot landed on it and kicked it forwards. Leandro's breath hitched and quickly turned to an insult ready to be released. His head snapped to the running figure down the hall, but it died on his lips.

The asshole has a mullet.

And it was so fucking ugly… he was speechless.

* * *

I love your comments! I plan to reply to all!

Big Geek

.com


	2. Chapter II: A Swords Missing Blade

**[Galaxy Garrison]**

 **[0100 hours]**

 **[Wing A, aka Teacher Offices and Rooms]**

"Shiro, why did you drag me here" Keith huffed as Shiro stared at him incredulously. Shiro knew something was up. He could see it. In the subtle movements, facial expressions. He just needs confirmation. So, he doesn't live with it for months on the trip to Kerberos, which launches next week. He needs to know.

Shiro plopped down on his bed, inviting Keith to join, which he accepted. He has seen the subtle blushes and the love filled sighs every time he saw him after one particular class; Physics. He has even seen Keith smile when he thinks no one is looking. AND THAT IS FREAKY IN ITS OWN. This was Keith he was talking about. The lone wolf. The protagonist in every anime show and/or film.

"Look Keith," Shiro sighed, "I love you like a brother and I have one question", it was still, until Shiro suddenly gripped Keith's shoulders, startling the younger man. "Who is it?" Keith's nose was centimetres away from his, Shiro's eyes blown wide, whilst Keith's strange purple was wide with shock. Keith sputtered. He obviously knows what he is talking about, a red streak appeared on his nose.

"N-no one" Keith supplied. He didn't even try to deny it. Perfect, he's got him unguarded. Shiro huffed.

"Bullshit. I know it's someone in your Physics class."

It was quiet. The room lightened by the single lamp on Shiro's desk, which was covered with hundreds of books. All used for the mental revision and exams before the Kerberos mission. The last exam the very next day. He was suppose to be studying for it, but this was much more important.

Keith shuffled backwards awkwardly and Shiro pulled back.

Keith cleared his throat, "…I don't know his name" Silence.

Actually, the word "silence" was an understatement. It was suffocating as Shiro processed the words. Then he proceeded to erupt into laughter. Bowing down on the side of the bed, borderline hysterical.

Keith sputtered, "I-it's not funny. STOP laughing!" Every time Shiro looked at his tomato red face, he erupted again. Keith gripped the bed sheets as he endured the humiliation. The dark streak that ran across his nose darken further than it was possible, but to his luck, it only made Shiro continue his ridiculousness. Keith's heartbeated faster and faster.

"Falling in love" with someone, yet not knowing their name. h. Shiro gasped, struggling to the control his giggles as he attempt to change into his serious, "dad" face.

"Okay. Okay. Okay. Let me get this straight. You are crushing hard on a guy you don't even know the name of?"

Keith avoided his chuckling stare. Keith looked like he was going to combust on the spot. Then he answered in a humiliating whisper, "…I ran into him once…".

And he erupted again, his chest hurt and it felt like he was suffocating.

He never thought Emo, depressed, loner Keith would have a big fat crush like a middle school girl. And he doesn't hide it as well as middle schoolers do. Shiro wheezed long and hard. I actually felt like he was going to pass out.

Keith grabbed the pillow that laid beside him, awaiting to be slept on, and used it to hide his blushing face. If you can't see them, they can't see you. He groaned into the fluffy cushion, using the feathers as a sound absorber and he continued to listen to Shiro die right beside him. Laughing, chuckling, silence, then wheezing. And the cycle repeats.

He thought he hid it so well.

Keith slammed the pillow back onto the bed and abruptly hopped off the bed and marched towards the door. "I'm going to bed," he turned back to Shiro that was redder than he was. He literally looked about he was about to die from asphyxiation. Well, it didn't bode well with the fiery look Keith had plastered on his face. By skin shade and his eyes. He gritted through his teeth, "and you should study". The closing of the door empathized his lasting sentence.

His eye twitched to when he could still hear Shiro's loud laughter through the walls. Don't punch the wall. Don't punch the wall. He traded the thought with stomping away. The further he walked down the hall, the further Shiro's teasing got. That, he was relieved by.

The stars shone through the sky when he walked pass big, obnoxious windows. The only windows alike in the faculty, as guessed, only in staff and high graded Wings. He walked pass the guards that patrolled the area, none of them saw the need to warn him, as they were used to him walking to a fro with Shirogane. But, he didn't miss the suspicious glint in their eyes when they saw is red face. He was sure of it.

Green and Red lights blinked in the distance, signalling the landing and take-off of aircrafts, either to out post on Mars and Venus or older graduates taking joy flights to build up their hours. His heart still hammered in his chest, and that bright, white smile always popped right back up when he thought about the relating subjects; Physic, Homework, assignment, school, and unfortunately now, Shiro. That bastard just had to ruin it for him, didn't he? He would be ashamed to admit it, but he's fantasized more than once if he was his roommate instead the complaining asshole he currently resides with.

"Mr. Kogane" Keith flinched and he hand urged to grabbed his knife from his back, which he left in his bedside table on his dormitory. He breathed through his nose, trying to relieve the heart attack. It's just Iverson. Not Mr. O'Kalri. "you should be asleep cadet, or better, studying. You have that exam tomorrow morning," Iverson glanced at the watch on his wrist, "or should I say in a few hours." Iverson's eyes bore into him, he hated it that they look so much like Mr. O'Kalri. But, he could not hold that against the Commander. Keith pulled into a tight salute.

"Sorry sir, Shiro dragged me here, sir" Iverson lips curled in a small smile. He was a good man, he just takes someone other than the average cadet to see that.

"I believe he talked to you about…your situation" Iverson looked unsure to the words, but Keith's mouth dropped shortly in horror.

He stuttered, "He told you!". This was it. This is how his carefully constructed reputation starts to plummet. Iverson stood straighter, an uncaring mask on his face, but his eyes betrayed to slight amusement.

"He told the entire staff of his suspicions. Though, I believe the entire faculty knew the person you have your eye on, but we made a pact to not tell him the name of said cadet" Keith's face grew hot, and his lips curled into a snarl. His fists clenched and unclenched.

"I'm going to kill him." His heart beated like no tomorrow, though he wasn't sure if it was embarrassment or anger. Let's go in-between. "And I'll be using his own books"

Iverson's stern hand gripped his upper arm, before he could go stomp off to Shiro's room and actually kill him. If the entire staff knew about it, then Matt knew about it, and he will not leave him the fuck alone. He was going to be repaying this torture in murder.

"Cadet," Iverson's stern voice interrupted his fantasised murder, "get some sleep. That's an order".

Keith's heavy breathing grew softer. That was the wises choice. But, he could use this anger for something else. Shiro did have that saying. It was tense until Keith sighed a few moments later, a groan threatening to escape the back of his throat.

He stood straight and nodded courtly to the Commander, "goodnight sir". Iverson nodded back and walked the direction he came. Keith released the groan and walked down the hall. Feeling like a complete idiot as his pink dusted cheeks receded.

Keith Kogane. "Born Pilot". High reputation. Takes no shit from nobody. Now, having the rest of the semester of Professors watching his back with smirks on their faces. It put the previous day in clarity due to Professor Montgomery sitting beside him giving him some dating tips. That was the most awkward conversation he ever had with the teacher. He doubts he could look her in the eye again. With her knowing smirks and eye…pointing. Whatever it is called. He swears, the next time Shiro has a little boy crush, he's going to literally crush it with his bare hands and-

Dark movement slithered in the corner of his eye. He stopped cold. There were no guards present, nor any late-night grading Professors. Just the inky darkness at the ends of the halls, where unused rooms laid. Hs mind brought him to the knife his mother gave him the he left on his bedside table. Scanning the empty corridors, he spotted it.

Half of a body just turning the corner. The corner in the direction he came. Just a speck in darkness.

He stood at the middle of the intersection. Pondering if he should go back to his dormitory with his annoying roommate or follow the strange anomaly. This evening had already been full of not-Keith-like things, ones that would change people's views of him forever.

He smiled. At the taste of adventure.

Let's do a Keith thing.

 **[Galaxy Garrison]**

 **[0110 hours]**

 **[Wing C, aka Cadet Dormitories]**

It was three hours pass the usual curfew, and was he sleeping? Fuck no.

Was he studying for that exam he has in eight hours? Absolutely not.

So, what was he doing? Tugging on black, skin-tight, kelva pants and kelva, black hoodie all over the bare pieces of Amazonian armour he stole. The one outfit that literally spells out; FUCKING SUSPIOUS.

Lance cringed and flinched when Hunk snored particularly loudly. His arm stopping halfway from grabbing to dark utility belt from the underside of his duffle bag. Only to breathe out a sigh of relief when Hunk sputtered and shifted away.

The dull click echoed in the room, the weight of many tools laid on his hips. Bat's gave him a tip several days ago. Their main target; Iverson, was planning something without the authority's knowledge. Whether something illegal, or something completely different. You cannot overview these things. Which was why he was going to use the small device in his belt's pouch that could hack any computer, all programmed by Tim himself.

Relief and unexpectedly closure spread through his veins the moment his hands curled around the handle of his favourite sword. The ancient, worn leather brought happiness as his lifted it from the bottom of the bag. A swords hilt met his vision. The one he stole from the armours "special" weapons from its history. The one he was always fascinated with on that stand. A sword with a missing blade.

He smiled and hooked it to the hoop attached to the utility belt. A light brown in a sea of black. An alright colour combination.

A little bit of him felt guilt reside in the pit of his stomach at leaving behind the other weapons he still has in his bag, like they were actual things with feelings. Sure, he got a little carried away with preparing for his first mission. It was in the middle of the night. No aunties, no mother, and gods no grandmother. But, a little piece of him thinks he would use them…and he probably will. Somehow.

He tugged his hoodie down and rid up the dark bandana. The only thing of view was his mother's eyes he inherited. He breathed out the nerves that resided in his stomach.

Training with his mother, and his harsh aunts was hell, but it prepared him. Though, the fact this was his very first mission, and he was determined to not fuck it up. He was never as nervous as he is now. His stomach was flopping in his stomach, and his muscles felt tight. Not loose and tense as they should before a fight. All in all, he didn't look or feel as ready as he should be.

The door swooshes open. The sound felt like it echoed through the entire base. It was dark, and the stars that shown through the small window at the back were dim. Just pinpricks in a moonless sky. At 11:10pm, the guards are not to patrol this section of hallway, then he should turn right as guards pass the hallway. It may be the long way to the Iverson and his office, but it was for the best.

His feet padded silently through the halls. A sense of familiarity flooded through him. It was something Bruce taught him. How to say silent, how to move like a shadow. Dick had made jokes that Leandro was pretty much the less trained, superhuman version of a Bat. He might as well be. He did practically live with them. Not that his mother knows it. She was barely around anymore.

In the depths of his mind, he played the (what was that movie Jason showed him one time?) Mission Possible. The situation seemed appropriate enough, especially when he evaded guards he knew were going to walk by or pass him. Advoiding the small flashlights they held like some robber on the move. In black kelva and no skin showing, that might as well be the situation.

It became rhythm. Walk. Walk. See guards. Evade. Walk. Walk. See guards. Hide. Repeat. Before long, he was entering Wing B. The Classrooms and Lecture Halls. He passed the posters he sees every day. One for a club, the other for Garrison career advertisement. The Garrison simulator highlight sheet that was stuck on to the corkboard between Lecture rooms B4 and B5.

The Garrison didn't conduct the simulator on freshmen until semester two. The first semester was surrounding the general protocol and procedure's. Next semester, they will be introducing the simulator to them, and Lance has no idea to be excited and nervous. Even if this mission does go for four years, and he graduates as Lance McClain, his real persona has no use for it. But, at least he as something to do in the meantime.

Lance passed the lecture rooms and moved onto the small classrooms and class labs.

At the sight of his Physics classroom, he was very horribly reminded of the Exam he has the next morning. Every time that professor talks, the words just flow over his head. Physics was so hard. But, he is so happy that Hunk was in there with him. No looks of disappointment or general curiosity of how he got accepted into Galaxy Garrison. That means he's Scott free. Then there's that weirdo who sits behind him, who he swears is staring into his soul. The guy that knocked him over the other day. The asshole with the bikie gloves and (*gag*) mullet. It's like that guy wants to fight. And Lance knows he could beat his ass any day. Regardless of his reputation in the school.

The door with the letter 'A' reached his vision. The entrance to Wing A, or known as the teacher Dorms and Offices. He gripped the forged card from his utility belt, again from Bats, and swiped it through the pad. It flashed blue on the pinprick of an indicator on the top before it morphed into green and the double door swished open.

The moment he rounded the corner, he was met with large windows that showed off the sky. Full body windows on a nine feet height. To admit, this far away from the civilisation, it looked beautiful, almost as beautiful as Thermyscira. Especially with the red lights in the distance. On other times, he would sit and watch and reminisce, but he has a job to do.

A hallway came into his view, the one he would have to take to Iverson's office. This facility was so confusing sometimes, with its hallways and corridors. He turned away from the inky sky and back into the depths of metal walls that felt like they we closing in on him, watching straying guards off schedule before continuing his track. He knows he's at least a third away from Iverson's office. And that's was only half of the mission, next was coming back.

He flinched at the sound of light feet and his hand twitched, begging to use the sword on his belt. It didn't sound like a guard, they shouldn't be going in this route in the first place. It sounded soft, and small. And it didn't sound like any of the Professors he knew. There shouldn't be any cadets here in the first place. He stayed by wall. He was stuck at an intersection. Perfect. Not only does he have no idea what to do, but he doesn't know where this was going and who it was.

Lance stilled his breathing, fighting to urge to cover himself into the wall as footsteps came louder. His heart beated furiously in his chest, but his face portrayed no emotion. If he was spotted, he could easily take them down, without them knowing. But, it would it something was off in the facility, and they would do thorough background checks. He doesn't want to risk it.

He hid in the darkness as the unknown figure revealed itself, and continue walking to way he came. Avoiding the urge to speak the person's name aloud, Lance walk past him with no indication he was in there in the first place. Focus on the mission, Prince.

He tutted to himself as he discreetly rounded the corner.

Keith Motherfucking Kogane.

 **[Galaxy Garrison]**

 **[0127 hours]**

 **[Wing A, aka literally ten feet away from Iverson's office]**

The miniscule remote was held tight in his hands. A finger print sensitive button on top, like a pair of car key's or the remote to a garage. Bruce said, this remote would set up an alarm on the other side of the facility that would require a Leading Commanders assistance with, and beep in alert on said Commanders travel back. That would mean he has five minutes to get in, retrieve the information (which should take two minutes), and get out. Simple for a first mission.

Letting out a breath he hadn't realise he was holding a touched the button. Time stilled as he waited for something to happen. For a moment, he wondered if it was busted, then Iverson door was thrown open and the Commander himself walked briskly down the hall. Like a man on a mission. Worked like a charm.

Silently crossing the hall, he swiped his key card and the door swished open. The smell of a _very_ sterile room met his nostrils. He took a step into the _No Mans Zone_ and observed.

Three words.

 _Not Lived In._

It's like the Commander doesn't even use this space. Sure, some medals hanged on the walls and a very bare bookshelf was underneath them but the desk and shelves were practically bear. Not a coat of dust. Scepticism curled in his mind. Either, one; Iverson was very much a neat freak, or two; his Spidey senses are tingling with suspicion. Hey! Don't hate Spiderman. Those were his favourite comics in Gotham. Binged-read like crazy.

He mentally slapped himself. The Mission, was plastered all over his mind and he set to work. Working around the oak coloured desk, noting the carpet was a as soft as cotton, he practically, slamming the device into the USB port and the screen instantly flashed onto a coding desktop. Codes of green moved upwards and a loading bar appeared.

[Loading…]

[2.34 minutes]

|/ |

Lance huffed. A red flag was going off. In all of his classes and his time at Galaxy Garrison. Iverson always comes to his office. Whether during class or during break and definitely at night. But, the room looks practically unlived in. Even the smell of new plaster was still wafting in the room, and the carpet was soft, especially under in the chair to the desk. The dark colour wasn't faded in some way, or the crumpled under Iverson's weight all day.

If he wasn't in at his desk all day. Where was he?

He tapped his fingers on the wooden desk and spotted the drawers at the side. With little hesitation, he drew the first drawer open. It contents rattled. There was so little in it. Just some paperclips, pens and a notebook with the numbers and letters on it in crude, small writing.

Z275O6, or 227506

Shutting it back up, he moved to the bottom one and opened. Or attempted to open it. It jiggled at his soft attempt. Any harder and that lock would break off, and Iverson would get a tip that someone was at his office. He chewed on his tongue. Something was in there. And something like that in such a bare room must be important. If anything, Bat's taught him. He glared at the silver lock and moved around to his belt. Opening and closing capsules but none of them had any lockpicks. The Bat made this, he must have some. Batman doesn't take chances.

The device he left on the desk beeped in its low, shrill way and his heart leapt into his throat. It hasn't been five minutes yet. It takes two minutes of general direction to get to that area, he must have gotten information of a non-crisis on his way to the "crisis".

DAMN IT!

His eyes shot up to the loading bar.

[Loading…]

[.58 minutes]

|/ |

He refused to acknowledge the fact that it went quicker than usual, and began to hop form leg to leg, like he was running on the spot, in nervousness. Come on. Come on. Come on. His fingers twitched and he felt like he was going to throw up. Not very heroic. But let him go, this was his very first mission. His heart was working overtime, and his stomach stewed.

If Commander Iverson catches him in his office. That's it. Game over. K.O.

He choked when the bar flashed a hundred and the computer shut off, snatching the USB out of the port and hastily moved to the door and swiped the key card. His hands shook and he could barely put the card into the slot. He felt like an idiot. Getting caught on his first mission, and his mother would put on tighter metaphorical chains than before.

This mission is his ticket to freedom.

He needed this.

The pad flashed green, and all the relief of the world washed over him. The doors opened slower than he ever thought imaginable.

Then stopping dead cold at a pair of indigo eyes.


	3. Chapter III: Backtracking

**[Galaxy Garrison]**

 **[0127 hours]**

 **[Wing A, Iverson's Office]**

Blood roared in his ears and he snarled. Keith Fucking Kogane. Of course. _Of course_. This was how the world was going to fuck him up. With his descendants, relations, and now fucking this, on his first mission. He stared narrow eyed into those deep eyes, pure hatred pooling in his gut. His fists curling. He will not hesitate to use force to complete his mission.

"Move," he ordered. "or else". Giving his voice an unusual gravelly tone. Like Batman a fleeing thought passed his mind.

Keith didn't move, not a twitch. Any sane person would be terrified of him. He's dressed like someone from the League of Assassin's, who wouldn't. Yet, the other man glared at him, his face impassive, but his eyes reveal a glint of confusion and curiosity. To be honest, he should give this guy some credit. He's not running away screaming, or cowering like the criminals from Gotham when Jason took him out for some "action", and no, Jason took extra care to not kill people when he was with him (or blow anyone or anything up).

Keith's nostrils flared, "Who the hell are you?". He stood straighter. Pretty much giving him no access to move pass him without physical force. Lance withheld another growl, and continued to glare him down.

There was no time. Not for this. He could hear the purposeful feet of Iverson stomping through the halls already. Clenching his fists, he continued to stare into those eyes, preparing to push him away and drag him down the hall to intimidate into not saying anything about this surprise confontation.

Keith curled his lip, " _Who_ the fuck are you?", he repeated in a harsher tone.

They might as well be two turkeys bearing their chests at each other.

Lance's heart beated to the rhythm of Iverson's steps. The steps that were getting louder and more defined as his ears strained to monitor his position. He analysed the smaller, other man. If he could manage to slip around him, he would be able to cover his mouth and drag him down the halls.

This situation has put a wrench into his plans. If he does somehow manage to get away he would forever have another person from the outer circle knowing his existence…and it had to be that guy that creepily stares at him during class. Like he was a piece of meat. He shudders every time.

It was a miracle that Keith hasn't recognized him now.

"I said move"

The device in his hands vibrated, harder and more frequent to Iverson's (in predictability) current location. If there were crickets near-by, they might as well start chirping over the sound of Lance's thundering heart. Lance's ears strained; the thumps of Iverson's boots got louder; and panic bubbled in throat. Despite his best efforts to conceal the anxiety he was experiencing, Kogane raised an eyebrow and he knew he failed.

Lance whispered breathlessly, "Son of a bitch".

Keith gasped slightly and before he knew it, his arm was pinned behind his back by the very person who were a foot in front of him only seconds ago. A slight chill from the black gloves and a 'bracelet?' that covered his mouth and resisted his ability to escape.

Lance grunted softly as Keith struggled as he dragged him down the hall as quickly as possible. Stumbling as Keith's legs kicked in the air. His arms burned with stress as the other man tried to escape. The other man clearly surprised by the strength of his twig arms.

There should be a patrol rounding in this hallway in a few seconds and Iverson is getting closer. With Lance's eyes frantically roamed the bare hall, he spotted a lone door. Of course, the storage room. Dragging Keith, Lance quickened his pace.

The door side open silently. Albeit with a soft creak. Just as he heard the unmistakeable sound of patrols coming around the corner. Shoving Keith roughly into the cramped room, Lance closed the door as quickly as possible. Glaring at Keith the moment his mouth opened, to no doubt to scream at him. The glare was effective enough to have the words on Keith's lips die in his throat.

The organ in his chest thumped heavily against his rib cage as the patrol officer walked pass the door. Somehow to think that the guard knew they were there and ready to crash through the door at any given moment.

When the thumping of steel-capped boots faded into the distance, Lance let go of the breath he didn't realise he was holding, leaning his head against the cool metal before straightening up again. That was close. Too close, and caught by someone. Batman would be so disappointed in him.

Lance's hands went limp to his sides. Keith shuffled in the cramped space from behind, no doubt furious with this evenings events. The moment the other man tensed, his eyes switching back and forth for a possible escape route, despite the obviously trained person blocking the door, Lance spoke.

"Don't"

The tone deep and serious enough that Keith dropped his wary stance only slightly. Behind those indigo eyes, Lance could see a flame ignite. Instantly, he knew this was going to be a difficult person to work with.

"Kogane," Lance ignored the flinch that rattled the other man's body, "do not speak of this confrontation. If you do, I will find you and I will not hesitate to kill you." _of course, he wasn't going to kill him_ , "Are we clear?" To intimidate him more, Lance made sure to flash the ancient weapon on his belt. Kogane's eyebrow twitched, and Lance knew that he saw the ancient engravings on the bladeless sword.

From over his shoulder, Lance saw Keith's nostrils flare and his eyes to narrow further than thought possible.

Silence reigned over the pair, the cramped space did make it any less suffocating either. Lance could tell the other man was trying to figure out the best often, from the glazed eyes and the clenching fists.

Finally, Keith spat, "Fine"

Facing back to the door to hide the growing smirk, the fire in the other man's eyes Lance knew that Keith wanted to interrogate him himself. A true loner. An intelligent loner, though.

Before Keith begun to ask his first question, Lance cut him off. "Talk to anyone about this, you're dead. Think about this, you're dead. I won't see me again, don't hope too". Like that Lance stepped out of the storage room, the door swiftly closing behind his mysterious form.

Keith blinked before he scrambled onto his shaking legs, quickly opening to the door to an empty hallway.

Doing a three sixty to confirm the conclusion that the man was gone, muttering under his breath.

"Damn it"

 **[Galaxy Garrison]**

 **[1027 Hours]**

 **[B Wing, Classroom 4]**

6 feet tall?

deep blue eyes

ancient? Weapon

He wore a bracelet of some kind

skin colour: brown? It was dark

sharp jaw?

The bell rung, effectively making Keith drag his pencil down the page, cutting right through the 'jaw'. Students packed up books, and swiftly left the classroom. The familiar rush of anxious and sleep deprived peers running to their next class, or lecture. He groaned as he closed his notebook. This was the lecture he was dreading all day. The one with Mrs Montgomery. So far, all his classes were for revision, all of which were supervised with no teachers, but the student initiative. Mrs Montgomery was known to be teasing to her students, especially if she knows one of her students got a crush on another, and he dreads it.

Though, he gets the look at _hot_ Lance McClain.

But, that's what got him into this mess to begin with.

Students avoided him, as they do, as he walked down the hallway. All focused-on revision and their last lesson for the day before they could do serious studying. The dark bags under their eyes could be as big as Texas.

The door to Lecture Room B4 slid open, the spacious room starting to crowd with students. The overhanding lights illuminating the windowless room in white, like an empty supermarket. Dreadfully, Mrs Montgomery spotted him the moment the door opened, leaning against her desk in the middle of the room, starting the projector for the large screen that was viewed by all that sat in the U-shaped desks. A wolfish smile appeared on her lips, and a mischievous glint gleamed in her beady eyes. Fighting the flush on his cheeks he looked away and moved to his seat, the seat just one desk behind Lance McClain's. But, he knew the Professors smile grew impossibly wider. It took everything in his willpower, not to glare at her and possibly flip the bird.

Opening the book that he laid on the desk seconds before, he went back to the page he was at before in the classroom. Chatter of the recent exams and the upcoming ones filled the silent lecture hall. Eighty or so students started to fill up the empty tables along the sides, like always. Like every time, he heard one distinct voice out of all of them. Loud and obnoxious. The tanned boy, in the ugly orange uniform, but still managing to pull it off entered the room with what's-his-name; Hank, Henry? Ignoring the beady, mischievous eyes of his professor, he stared at Lance McClain like he does with every lesson. Unblemished face, eyes he could stare into for years, jaw that could cut paper. The real dream boat. _I'm so gay._

Though, his mind was distracted. Usually, the thoughts of McClain's toned back and feathery looking hair have been replaced with curiosity. The man last night. Something in his gut swirled with anxiety and interest. The moment he watched him enter Commander Iverson's office, the illuminated lights that shone on the mysterious man. At first, he thought he was an assassin. Planning to murder the Commander of the Galaxy Garrison.

When Commander Iverson's door opened again after listening against the metal door (only listening to draws opening and sly feet), he saw those ocean blue eyes and they weren't battle hardened like steel. More like they had a playful glint, no broken glaze he was used to seeing in the homes.

So that's what brought the question: Just who was this guy? What was with that weapon? What was his purpose in the Garrison? How did he know his name?

Glancing around the room, to seem like he was focusing on whatever Mrs Montgomery was teaching he turned to a new, clear page in his notebook. He knew these questions were never going to leave his conscience until he got answers. Maybe it was time to get the man's attention.

 **[Galaxy Garrison]**

 **[2104 Hours]**

 **[Facility Rooftop]**

The earbuds were cold when he stuck them in his ear, not that he necessarily cared. In less than a minute, Bat's would be calling him, needing a debrief. It's safe to say, but he wasn't exactly trilled for the incoming transmission. After sending the mini USB from Iverson's Office into the hidden, unidentifiable slit in the paper Bruce somehow has (He's learnt not to ask about it), he stomach clenched at the thought of the face-to-face interaction he will have with Bruce. The Wayne Enterprises produced phone sat lightly in his sweating hands, the dark glass screen reflecting the night sky like a mirror.

Lance couldn't help but pace, more or less ready to expel the nervous energy anyway he could – preferably by punching the shit out of someone. Obviously, he can't do that as Lance McClain, goofy, skin care guru. His feet stopped suddenly.

 _Oh Gods! Bruce probably already knows about Kogane! He's the godsdamn Batman! That's it, Prince! Say goodbye to freedom!_ Back into the depressing void he had been home too for over a decade!

He looked to the sky, praying for all the gods to help him. He needs this. He needs to be free.

As on cue, the tell-tale vibrating his untraceable phone rattled I his hand. Convincing his heart to let go of his throat, he swallowed, his finger hovering over the green call button disobeying orders to press it. The moment his finger touched down on the button, he was face to face to The Batman. Instantly, the white slits of his cowl narrowed.

 _He knows!_

Plastering the fakest smile possible, he put up a small wave. "Heeeyyyy".

Batman was not impressed, that he could tell.

"You've never been good under pressure Prince. What did you do?"

Lance gulped. Of course, he saw through any mask, why did he even bother trying to hide it. Should he just blurt it out, and get it over with? Or just lie, despite the _motherfucking_ fact that this is the Batman and he knows everything. Over the broad shoulders of Bruce, he caught a glimpse of Alfred's tux. A piece of him wanted to get his attention to be bailed out. Like all the times before.

He closed his eyes and let his gaze fall to his feet, "I'm not going to lie to you Bruce, and this will be nothing but the truth," lifting his eyes back up, attempting to conjure the most serious face as possible, "I was attack by a thousand spirits of the dead in ancient battle armour by Hades and was held prisoner for a while, but I'm back now"

Bruce's jaw twitched, and the white slits of his eyes narrowed even further. Someone was laughing in the background, probably Jason, or Dick.

"Leandro… What did you do?"

The tone was deeper than usual. He was angry. Scratching the side of his face with a shaking finger, he shied away from camera, mumbling under his breath all the while. If Bruce didn't have his cowl one, he was positive it would be absolutely livid.

"You got caught" His skin tingled with the way Bruce rolled those words. "You compromised the whole mission"

Lance's next breath unexpectedly shuddered.

"I didn't even hear him until I exited the office. He was silent, until I dragged him off to the nearest storage closet. I told him to stay away and not to speak about it. Please," he started to choke, "I don't want to go back to Therymscira"

As always, Batman didn't display any emotion. Lance's eyes burned and he hated it, the iron fist around his heart squeezed to its limit. He'll do anything to stay away from his so-called home, or his so-called mother. Silence reigned on the pair, despite not in visual range, he knew Alfred and Jason-or-Dick were watching. How quick he was to cry about his "home" was always surprising to him, despite the fact it was a prison. But, it was understandable.

After a moment of silence, Bruce spoke, in his softer Batman tone, "What was his name?". The tension in Lance's back melted.

"Keith. Keith Kogane"

The tapping of keys filled the awkward silence. Lance breathed easy in that time. For a moment, he was sure that this freedom was going to end and abruptly as it started.

"Keith Kogane. Galaxy Garrison Cadet. Gifted Pilot. Mother: Unknown. Father: Deceased, when Kogane was eight, by car accident. Small criminal record of shoplifting or assault. Bounced around in the system for a few years before being taken under the wing of Takashi Shirogane after a school presentation."

 _Oh, Hera. Who knew Mullet had such a sad childhood._

Bruce was silent for another moment, no doubt trying to figure out whether or not he should leave the mission and leave it for someone more qualified.

"Use him". _What?_

"What?"

Bat's looked at him more intently than he did before, "This kid has ties to Takashi Shirogane, that would lead to Samuel and Matt Holt. Being a Gifted Pilot would also have gotten the attention of Commander Iverson of the Galaxy Garrison."

Lance stared blandly into the screen. Of course! _Of course!_

"You have him in your Physics Class with Mrs Montgomery, befriend him. As for your undercover side, Kogane looks like the kind of person who would take on the challenge, and a person who would keep a secret. If he wasn't, you would have already been compromised already and authorities would be onto you."

Bat's was right. Keith had a curious bone in his body. From the way, he spotted him staring at his book instead of him, it was unusual. For him, anyway. The Mullet had a thirst for knowledge.

"The Garrison professors have already made the groups for your upcoming physics project for the next term, I'll make sure that you are partnered with Kogane"

Fan-freakin-tastic!

"Great, Bat's. I'll-!"

"Leandro," Bruce began, "Your performance on the first mission has been…satisfactory. I have no qualms about you completing this mission. I'll be waiting for your next debrief, your next mission will be conducted when I find a lead."

Lance smiled as the phone was shut off. Leaving his face to replace Batman's only seconds prior. Shoving it back into his pocket, he stared out in the distance. Miles and miles of sand, like it as an ocean. Stretching as far as he could see, only the brief view of the closest city skyline was seen in the distance, the glittering lights barely shone to where the Garrison lies.

Time to befriend Keith Kogane as _Blue Wonder_.

 **[Galaxy Garrison]**

 **[2158 Hours]**

 **[Wing C, Student Dorms Branch B, aka Keith's Dorm B575]**

Keith snarled as he redrew the one curve over and over again. Every single time, it just didn't look right. The hood was fine, the face details were vague, but enough relating to what he remembers. He could hear Shiro in his head, "Go to sleep, Keith, it's late". Oh, fuck off.

The single lamp over his cluttered desk was fine, but drawing in-between clusters of books was not ideal. Not like he had the time, he needed to draw what he saw of the man before the memory grew hazy. Then there was redrawing the "weapon" that was attached to the man's belt with engravings on it, and drawing versions of the bracelet that was around the guy's wrist. If he could identify it, maybe he could identify it when he wasn't in "costume".

How he came to that conclusion was; the guy knew his name, it wasn't like anyone remember everyone's name unless they went to the Galaxy Garrison. Therefore, the suspects have been narrowed down to the staff and students of the Garrison, most likely a student.

"And here, I would have posed"

Keith dropped his pencil. Instinctively unsheathing his knife from the hilt on his back and aimed it at the perpetrator. When his mind digested what he was seeing, the hold on his knife trembled. Same hood. Same dark wear. Same belt and weapon attached. Same piercing blue eyes. This time a bandana of sorts covering the lower of half of his face.

Silence filled the room. The lonely lamp on his desk giving the only source of light in the cramped, lifeless bedroom that was filled with notes and books. Keith could feel anxiety brew in his gut.

"Keith Kogane. I'll love to answer most of your questions, only if you follow with what I need you to do…?"


End file.
